


Fall of Gondolin

by Moringotho_in_Angamando



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Don't Judge, Fall of Gondolin, Gen, Not my usual style, no idea what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moringotho_in_Angamando/pseuds/Moringotho_in_Angamando
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically what I thought Ecthelion's view on the Fall of Gondolin would be like. It was late night and while I was trying to focus on my multi-chapter story this came to mind instead. This is not my usual writing style but my confused brain told me to publish it and I obeyed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall of Gondolin

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don’t know what happened. It is late night, and this just came up to my head. I am not responsible for the terrible quality, but feel free to point out all my mistakes!

It was truly amazing how in one moment a city could turn from a place of laughter and merriness into one of darkness, despair, and screams of horror, Ecthelion mused. Though it really was not the time for musing, he told himself a few moments later. He shouted to his folk: “To the tower! Quick!”

Turgon had long devised plans for the time when the city would be attacked. Ecthelion, Glorfindel, and many other lords had brought up countless versions of how it could happen, from where they would be attacked and with which beings. Yet this never occurred to them. The thought that their city could be attacked by Balrogs in such great numbers on the night of a feast had never come to their minds. 

“To the Tower, folk of the Fountain!” he cried again. His warriors gathered to him. 

In the tower of the Fountain there were weapons, enough for all the warriors. In all the plans, though none of them quite matched the attack, Ecthelion was to be held in reserve. He was to come out only if the battle was turning ill indeed, in hopes of attacking the assailants from two sides and crushing them. 

“Be quiet!” he called softly. “They should not expect us to be here.”

It would all turn out well, he told himself. He was in Gondolin, and Gondolin would not fall to the dark lord. Yet he could not banish from his mind the words that sent a chill down his spine, for he had overheard them in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, the words of foreboding that came out of Turgon’s mouth. “Not long now can Gondolin be hidden; and being discovered it must fall.*”

He hoped that for once his king would be wrong, that somehow they would hold the city, and ward off the attack. But even if they would, what would happen next? Moringotto** would just send more troops, for he had many more Orcs than Gondolin Elves. They would fall at some point, be it now or later. But how he wished, oh how he wished that it would not be now.

Coming to the window of the tower, he looked into the battle. It looked no better than when he fled it, a lot worse actually. He would have to join, he feared. Not that he was afraid of the battle, but it should not have come to this! 

How did Moringotto find out where Gondolin stood anyways? How could he launch such an attack, who told him? Surely he could not have found it by himself, someone must have told him, who?

But it was no time for thought. “Now!” commanded Ecthelion. “Go to the palace, ward the worst of the troops away from the king. Try to get the people out of here, get them to Sirion, to Nargothrond***, wherever you can!”

With that, he marched out of the tower, his host following him, and came up unseen to the tower of the king, and then signalled for the music to sound. And the flutes sounded more fair than ever, and hope was lifted in Ecthelion’s heart, and he could see the men of Gondolin fight more valiantly than before. When all eyes were on him, he called for the swords to be drawn, and he heard his voice over all the noise of the battle, and louder still the drawing of the swords of his troops, and the flutes were cast aside as the Noldor went in sudden onslaught into the very midst of the Orcs. 

He charged through the battle, slashing right and left, until he came up to Tuor the husband of Idril. They pushed forward and pushed back, never straying far from each other. And then he stopped in sudden awe, for before him, towering over the Orcs, were beasts of flame, like to those which he had seen in the Nirnaeth. Yet he charged back into battle with more strength than before, and together with Tuor they slew eight of those demons, before he misstepped, and a lash caught him on shield-arm. 

He felt a great pain course through him, as he leant on Tuor. He was aware of battle around him, and of his friend’s faltering strength as he was half-carried south, to the fountain, until the darkness took him.

When he woke, there was great pain, and he found no strength to move. He did open his eyes at some point, and saw Tuor facing a Balrog. As he could see leaders in the lords Maedhros and Turgon, he saw that this Balrog was the greatest of all those that were present, and knew that Tuor would not overpower him alone.

And suddenly foreboding came upon him, and he realised that he should not live through this battle. The realization hit him, and he knew that he should gather the strength for a stand against this leader of demons, and save Tuor even if by the cost of his own life. 

He stood, and faced the demon, and felt the strength come to him from beyond, and charged at the demon. And though his charge failed, he fought on. His sword fell from his hand, yet it mattered not as he leapt upon the demon, and hung on to him, and drove his head into the fiery chest.

He felt heat, and heat and pain, for numberless seconds, and then he felt the demon sway off balance and fall. And he knew where they fell as soon as he felt the cool waters upon his heated skin. 

He realized that the demon was dead, that his helm had pierced him and given a mortal wound, yet he could not raise. He strained against the waters, but his armor was too heavy, and his arms too tired. 

He then opened his eyes, and looked up, and stopped struggling against what he recognized as his doom. Yet how terrible, how sarcastic it was that he would die in his own fountain, in the waters which he had so cherished throughout the long years he had spent in this fair city.

Before the darkness took him for one last time, he had time to think, and to hope, that Tuor had escaped this darkness thanks to him, and that maybe his death lead to some good in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: *this quote is from the Silmarillion’s twentieth chapter, “Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad”, said by Turgon when the sons of Galdor are urging him to flee and go into Gondolin.  
> **Moringotto (and Moringotho) is the name of Morgoth in Quenya I believe, I would put it more specifically if someone would specify in a review  
> *** I am going by the theory that Gondolin got no news from the outside world aside from the Nirnaeth, where mind-speaking or the Eagles would have been used. So they would not have known about the Fall of Nargothrond, as the Eagles would probably not fly as far as there to find out. Tell me if you think otherwise, I am earnestly interested!


End file.
